Days to Remember

Yesterday is the day that will be remembered (by me) as the day on which I finally did a handstand - a yoga one that is - which doesn't allow any kicking up.  I should admit that it wasn't unassisted but it was still the scariest thing I've done since labour - another day to remember...

Credit goes to the instructor Claire Missingham - whose yoga workshop I attended yesterday - where she broke the pose down to its individual components.  Easy when you know how?  Well not really - it's still flipping hard, but the illusion has been demystified.  In short, I made the impossible possible yesterday and I take away the lesson that if I (or anyone for that matter) wish to make changes or progress in some way it's imperative to step outside of the comfort zone.

No more treading water for this girl in any respect - NONE.

Talking of comfort zones and eschewing them for a more life affirming zone - I took the train to Manchester last week to see Pearl Jam.  In typical fashion this is a band I got into some 15 years after the rest of its fanbase.  But what a fanbase.  I thought I'd travelled a long(ish) way until I started talking to an Australian in the "beer queue" who'd not only come all the way from Brisbane to see them in the UK, he was also following the band on tour.  That's a lot of time, money and dedication but hey - beats sitting on your arse at work wondering why you hate Mondays so much.

They played a song that I have to say is sort of new to me though it's from (I'm told by an incensed Silverback) their first album - 1992 - ahem....It's called Release and now that I know the lyrics, it has taken on a whole new meaning for me.  I think you should just listen to it for yourself.

I suppose I should thank The Silverback for lending me "his" band.  I'm listening right now to the song. Yep, I'm "doing the face".  It brings a lump to my throat.  It's like a line in a book that you relate to so much, well it's like someone has just reached out from the pages and taken you by the hand. 

I'm off now to take no prisoners in life.  JAI!

Om Nama Shivaya.

The Cat That Got the Cream

Naughty, naughty!  Officially the longest gap between posts and I have absolutely no valid excuse for it.  Well, I sort of have in that I couldn't talk about the only real piece of news I wanted to talk about. And while there are other things, musings...drivel I could have bored you with I just couldn't focus for long enough on any other topic but this one. But now, finally, the gag is off.  I'm leaving my job!  I'm leaving!  I'm offski to join the other side. I'm leaving agency side PR to go in-house.  I am off to be the Media Relations Manager for 02.  YIHHHHHAAAAAA!  In the words of The Godfather: "They made me an offer I couldn't refuse" and I just could not be happier. No. More. Clients.  Gawd bless them.

It's the career equivalent of taking off a really really tight corset; like undoing the top button or two of your jeans after an "all you can eat buffet"; like putting on the comfy pants of an evening! Let the creative juices flow!  So it looks like patience and acceptance have paid off as hoped and ultimately planned.   The step back provided the run up needed to make up for ground lost in Canada.
I also get to work with one of the funniest and most talented wordsmiths I know.  Super Cool.
But before you all start feeling like I'm getting a little bit too smug, let me end this little update by telling you that last week The Homers spent a week in Magalluf....erm....that is what happens when you trust a Canuck with the booking of the family break.

For those of you who don't know anything about Magalluf - let's just say you are the lucky ones.

MEEEAOWW

Not so much giving, but taking part

Suffering from congenital cynicism, I'm always a little wary of giving to charity. I should preface this by saving that I have been known to give to charity in the past but with the exception of a homeless charity called Shelter that I use to make monthly donations to (when I was young, single and free of real financial obligations) and a donation I made to a friend's fund-raising page only this week for a cancer charity walk, I never feel very good about it. Yes, I know "feeling good" isn't the point - bear with me.

For a start being a member of what the Government calls the "squeezed middle" a.k.a - the sods that pay for everything and get nothing back -  I really resent being asked for donations for say things like local hospitals.  Again, I realise - very important and worthy cause.  But I already donate - it's called tax.

I also have a ranking order for charities - if you're collecting to buy sports equipment for your school, I'm going to suggest you get a Saturday job.  And never ever ask me for "spare" change because I'm of the opinion that I won't have any until I die and then by all means feel free to go through my pockets.

Recent events however have made me look at charity in a different way.  Money is obviously the goal of charity but I realised this weekend when attending a fundraising BBQ at my daughter's adventure playground that charity is also about community.  We're keen to keep the playground open as it offers an invaluable after school service which allows me and The Silverback to work fulltime.  The Lish loves it too and has blossomed there.

Recently we were led to believe that the playground was in danger of losing its funding from the local council.  I can tell you the thought of it had me in a real panic so much so I actually wrote to my local MP - which amazingly turned out to be multi-award winning English actress - Glenda Jackson. She wrote me back too!.  Luckily, it turned out we'd been misinformed, but when we heard about the BBQ - there was no question we would support the activity.  I'm not sure what I was expecting on Saturday but when we turned up and saw the swelling crowds all buying raffle tickets, buying crap up from the nik-nak stalls and paying good money to throw wet sponges at the playground staff - I have to admit that my heart swelled too.  I put my hand deeply in my pocket and bought way too many books and a bunch of raffle tickets for the chance to win crap I didn't need.  The Silverback too dug around time and again for change to throw countless balls at coconuts and sponges at the face of willing playground supervisors. 

But it didn't stop there.  I met the parents of all of The Lish's friends and all of this in the company of my own family - all united for one single cause.  I felt the warmth of giving that you rarely get from dropping a pound in a collection box. 

So I see why people get involved in charity.  It doesn't change the fact that I still won't be giving to every mofo shaking a box at me,  but I won't be knocking them for trying.

In which NOTHING goes my way

I'm in a purging mood. It is afterall my brand promise as well as my prerogative.  I can't stand weeks like these where nothing works out.  Let's see where shall I begin?  I know.  How about I tell you about my retarded bank and  a true story of incompetence.  I lost my debit card.  I hold up my hands, I let it slip out of my bag into the back of a cab in the less than 5 minutes between me using it at a cashpoint and the last few hundred metres to get home.  I noticed it immediately the following morning and had the card cancelled.  What can I say shit happens and I'm only human.  The bank said:  you will receive a new card in 3 working days.  That was March 30th.  It's now April 15 and still no card.  The bank in question lost it.  LOST it.  So, the card has had to be re-ordered and isn't expected for another 3 (to 5 - they built in a little leeway) working days. In total, and this is assuming it will be there  as promised, I will have been without easy access to my money for 20 days.  And to make matters worse - the onus is on me to call them to check the card is in before schlepping down to the branch to pick it up.  I promise all customers there on that day, a very very good show should the card not be there.

Moving on.  I received a parcel from Canada containing a gift for The Lish who was 6 on April 8th.  I was not home when they tried to deliver it and since I would put money on me not being home again, I went online to use their amazingly clever and thoughtful redirection service.  I asked for the parcel to be sent to my local Post Office.  It spat out a confirmation number.  The following Saturday I took The Lish, who by this point was excited to the point of nervous collapse, to collect said package.  No such package had been delivered. 

Now, it is true that this week, I'm especially short of oestrogen and were that not the case, I may have been irritated but would have been able to avoid the red mist - as it was - it being that time when women will kill if looked at the wrong way, and along with the recent memory of the fuckwits at the bank, I was in no mood for another failure at my expense.  In short - the CCTV inside that Post Office will corroborate: I. Lost. It. 

My last words to the subpostmaster were:  YOU SHOULD NOT BE RUNNING A POST OFFICE!  So another wasted journey but I still had enough energy left for one more rant which I reserved for this particularly incompetent shipping company's contact centre.

It is admittedly not my proudest moment.
My parcel is still at the depot, not having been "actioned" for 7 days since having requested the redirect.  Had I not called, I dare say that parcel would have remained there until the end of time.

And lastly, my ever patient friends, I asked my TV service provider to come and fit another cable box to end forever the squabbling over the TV remote.  From now on I get to watch whatever the hell I feel like and so does The Silverback - and THAT I believe will be the secret to our success.  But TV companies do not feel our time is as precious as theirs which is why they feel they can justify giving five hour time slots.  The audacity of it!  The utility companies know better then to mess with the consumer like this but it seems TV service providers have other prorities.  On Saturday, after my delightful experience at the Post Office I had to stay at home between the hours of 1 and 6 pm just for the cable guys who, of course, turned up in the last hour.  Then proceeded to destroy the bedroom, (for which I had requested the second cable box).  Disappointing all round.  Perhaps it's punishment for allowing a passion killer like a TV into this sacred room.

All I can say is with this much bad luck in one week - something good has got to be just around the corner.  No?  One lives in hope.

" I see dead vegetables"

I made it to phase 2 of the Dukan diet, also known as, the "cruise" phase.  This is the phase that follows the "attack"one which consists of cutting out everything but protein rich foods.  It's not too hard to do as long as you never ever run out of chicken.  What this phase does is shock the body into shedding excess water (long story but it has something to do with body chemistry) and pulling energy directly from a food that not only takes calories to digest but provides energy more directly to the cells than other food groups.  Let's see if I can explain this.  There are essentially 3 types of food groups: proteins, carbs and lipids.  For every 100 calories of proteins, the body uses 30 to turn the protein into energy which means if you ate 1500 calories in a day you're only actually ingesting 1050 calories as the remaining 450 have been used in digestion.  The numbers aren't quite as appealing for carbs and lipids which sucks of course.  If only it took the body as much of an effort to digest chocolate.

It's very clever really.  I should add that there is a rationale other than simple weight-loss here.  Dr. Dukan was looking for a diet that had almost immediate results enough to keep a clinically obese patient engaged.  After this initial phase he then ensured the diet became more balanced (you alternate protein only days with ones where veggies are allowed).  At this stage - your body still gets that shock to the system but you're no longer having imaginary conversations with broccoli.

This second phase basically goes on for as long as it takes you to lose the desired amount of weight.  Or of course until you lose the will to live.  For me, I've estimated a week to 9 days before this happens  - hell I made it almost 3 years in Canada - I CAN DO THIS!

I'll tell you about how you're supposed to keep the weight off later.  Of course the irony of this all is that I forgot to weigh myself at the start of this crazy trip - mainly because like most things I do - I was motivated more by a sense of adventure than planning.

Vegetable Porn

You can Dukan!

So, I'm giving the Dukan diet a whirl.  I'm not overweight, not really. I'm just you know, 40 and going through a mid-life crisis.

All my life up until I had my Lish Losh, the scales never tipped over 48/50 kilos and for the longest time I maintained a steady 45 kilos or 7 and a half stone despite being well, a bit of a lush in my 20s and a slave to carbs since being weened onto solids.  In this sense, I've really done ok.  One could say I've been lucky with my metabolism.  I would be doing myself a great injustice if I didn't also admit to being fairly sporty - or is that vain?  And I went through a phase of vegetarianism too. 

Today, I weigh in the region of 55 - 58 kilos which on a frame as small as mine shows.  And it simply will not do.  After a week at the Ashram on 2 meals a day, it was no surprise to find that I'd lost over 5 kilos and was almost back to the "worse case" old self.  However I will say this - age (and no doubt that thing that stretches your body into shapes you last saw a clown make with long balloons - what's it called? ) Oh, yes. Pregnancy -  does things to your body which means even at my "worse case" old self weight, I still don't cut the same old figure. 

Still, I cut a much nicer figure than at 58 kilos.  And I mean, not to sound conceited (though of course I am, very) I do yoga almost every day - so I'm far from being "out of shape".  So yeah.  Age. 

Anyway dieting was the furthest thing from my mind.  While I do have a very unhealthy obsession with macadamia nuts, I'm certainly not a glutton so really, I'm not your obvious diet candidate.  But during a mind-numbing sleep-walk through my trusty row of charity shops in West End Lane on poopy weathered Bank Holiday Monday, I found The Dukan Diet book for a couple of quid.  It was a lazy purchase motivated by boredom and disappointment with "The British Weather" but goddamit! Dr. Dukan talks a good game.  He had me after just 2 pages.  Before I knew it I was making a shopping list of "allowed" foods. 

Today is day 2 of the DD and I have to say, it's totally sustainable.  I'm not in the slightest bit hungry, though I will admit to finding the first "attack" phase a little prescriptive.  This is the phase where you are only allowed lean protein, which the clever Dr. D describes as "72 protein -rich foods".  In reality it means you'll be eating fish, chicken or beef and nothing else for the next week.  So you see, while it's all really very filling and for the most part quite satisfying, by day 6 you will start to hallucinate broccoli. After this phase which the Doc recommends you keep up for 5 days, you are allowed veggies - 28 different kinds of the little darlings but not potatoes, rice or corn and avocado is punishable by 100 lashes in the town square.

The downside and of course there always is one when it comes to diets, is that it takes the spontaneity (and fun) out of lunchtimes and when you work in Soho, that is a problem.  There is temptation on every corner and I'm not talking about the type that trot about in mini skirts and fishnets.

So tomorrow I can start adding a selection of 28 veggies to my 72 protein-rich foods which basically means I can have carrots with me chicken.  I shall look forward to that.

Nothing but goodness on a day like today

Today is the spring solstice - a day when we wholeheartedly give up an hour in exchange for lighter, warmer and greener days.  A very fair swap indeed and a pleasure doing business with you, nature.  There is only one place to go in London on days as deliciously fresh and sunny as today.  The park. Any park.  And there are plenty to choose from here.  We chose Primrose Hill along with hundreds of other sun thirsty Londoners.  What a joy to see people literally drinking down gulps of sunshine and park life.  Smiling, relaxed attitudes everywhere.  Happy.  Content.  All it took was a little mild weather.

I don't usually do well on playground duty.  I find it duller than church.  Watching kids play is about as entertaining as watching the laundry go round and round in a washing machine.  Most parents feel the same way.  I would put money on it.  Show me a parent who lives for taking their kids to the playground and I'll show you a very unstable personality.  A delusional liar, in fact.  After years of spending Saturday afternoons standing around a steel and plastic obstacle course, you can't help feeling a little resentful.  It's inevitable.  It's human nature.  But not today.  Parents were kicking off their shoes, peeling their socks off and rubbing their toes in the soft sand of the sandpit.  This never happens.   I promise you.  The sandpit is usually as inviting as a cold bath.  But today, parents were building forts with working draw bridges and actual size moats. 

Open arms at the end of a slide replaced vacuous stares broken only by the most serious of playground injuries and only then to enable the rolling of eyes.    There were standing ovations in appreciation of rope climbing prowess and those lucky enough to get time on a swing were over-joyed to the point of rapture.  Not even the ridiculously dressed person selling balloons at equally ridiculous prices could elicit even a modest measure of cynicism.  Balloons for everyone!

This was codeine strength leisure; parents were wiping saliva off their own chins.  Two whole hours passed before I even thought about making a move.  And even then it took everything I had. 

Life was invented for days like today.  And all it took was a little bit of sunshine.